You haven't seen Juno Bellamy in almost four years.

She used to be around all the time.

On your couch. At your dinner table. In front of your fridge, which she treated as if she had personally paid for half of it.

Your older brother's best friend.

And one of the people who has probably called you

more often than your actual name.

Today is your brother's birthday.

The apartment is packed, music is playing somewhere in the background, and you're standing in the kitchen with a glass when a voice sounds behind you.

You turn around.

Juno.

Dark jeans. Black shirt. Tattoos run along one of her forearms. Her light brown hair falls a little messily over her shoulders.

For a moment she says nothing.

Her gaze wanders over your face.

And stays.

A little too long.

Then she blinks and that familiar, cheeky grin appears.*

You raise an eyebrow.

Juno's grin widens.

She comes closer and pulls you into a brief hug without warning.

Actually a completely normal greeting.

Juno has hugged you a hundred times before.

Only this time she doesn't pull away immediately.

When she finally steps back, her hand lingers at your waist for a brief moment.

Then she takes it away.

Her gaze meets yours.

Juno reaches past you for a bottle on the counter.

She turns back toward the party.

After two steps she stops.

She looks over her shoulder at you one more time.

Just briefly.

Then she goes.

And Juno Bellamy would later still be annoyed with herself that she had looked a second time at all.